


kisses are a better fate than wisdom

by synchronicities



Series: an atlas o' clouds (bellarke fusions) [8]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Black Mirror Episode: s04e04 Hang the DJ, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Do those tags make sense? No, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 07:46:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16342697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synchronicities/pseuds/synchronicities
Summary: “Are you sure Bellamy isn't my soulmate?” she asks the System.Everything happens for a reason, the robot chirps back.----Bellarke + Hang the DJ fusion.





	kisses are a better fate than wisdom

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been wanting to do this for some time but I was stuck on how until I thought of three things in particular: the [1x08 deleted scene](https://twitter.com/InfoBellarke/status/820658101242261504), Episode 2x02 of The Good Place, and all the wonderful Blarke AUs I’ve read over the years. This one’s for y’all.
> 
> Anyway, this is inspired by Black Mirror’s Hang the DJ, so if you care about spoilers for that click away, if you don’t care the premise is that people are told how long their relationships will last. If you’ve already watched it you know where this is going and you know they deserve it. Also this tonally does not make sense but I don't care anymore just take it :---) 
> 
> Title from E.E. Cummings.

Clarke’s first impression is instinctive, wary dislike.

She can’t help it. Bellamy Blake looks exactly like the type of guy she avoided in school – cocky, confident, using machismo to cover up something or other. He’s looking at her with what she imagines is a similarly guarded expression to hers – but despite this, he has nice eyes.

But they’re here, seated across each other, with dishes the restaurant knew they would like in front of them, so she regards him, her fingers twisting in her lap. She inhales.

He’s the one who breaks first, face splitting into an easy smile, and instinctively, she relaxes.

“Hi,” she breathes, smiling back. He’s good-looking, with a sharp jawline, slightly messy dark hair, and a charming half-smile. Pretty good for a first match.

He sticks out a hand. “Bellamy,” he says, before his gaze darts away, embarrassed. “But you knew that already.”

She takes it. “Clarke,” she says. He gives a good handshake, his palm large and warm. “Should we check the relationship expiry date?” she asks awkwardly, taking her hand out from his and rummaging for her System pod. He nods and does the same.

**[00:00:12:00]**

“Twelve hours,” he reads out, his voice flat. She’s a little disappointed herself – it’s an awfully short time to have a relationship, System-mandated or no.

“A bit short,” she says.

He smiles. “Yeah, a little bit.”

And from there the conversation flows – she asks him about what he’s eating (a Filipino beef stew called _kaldereta_ , which tasted just like his father’s recipe), he asks her about her hobbies (art, and she used to volunteer at the pet shelter), they talk about their favorite things and their dreams and their families. Clarke laughs at his dad jokes; he pokes fun at her taste in music; they’re dropped off at their cozy cottage; and she doesn’t even think twice about curling under the covers next to him.

But they don’t fuck, that night. Clarke rationalizes that she does like Bellamy, could even grow to love him if given the chance, but – twelve hours.

It would be too bittersweet, if it just ended after that. She doesn’t push, and he doesn’t press.

She wakes up in Bellamy’s arms, appreciates how good he looks in the soft morning light, and he hugs her goodbye when their twelve hours run out. “See you around, princess,” he says, and she tries not to watch him be driven away.

*

“Are you sure my soulmate wasn’t Bellamy?” she asks the System just a little bit mournfully.

 _Everything happens for a reason_ , the robot chirps back.

*

She sleeps with her next match, Finn, straight away.

He’s nice enough, but a bit too earnest, and the way he runs his hand through his hair gets annoying after the first few times. But he’s handsome and charming, soft and friendly in a way Bellamy wasn’t.

Clarke’s not comparing Finn to Bellamy – she’s _not_.

But she sees him around at community events, his arm wrapped around his next matches, whom he always introduces to her – Roma, Gina, Bree, a string of women Bellamy seems to like. He seems to like _her,_ too, and so she tries not to feel…jealousy? Loss?

It was _twelve hours_ , and Clarke didn’t even kiss him, so she sucks it up and tries not to get too irritated with Finn.

From there, it’s back to short matches. She gets a day with Miller, who’s gruff and kind but is pretty sure he’s gay, and so they spend the day watching nature documentaries. A month with Lexa, strong and intimidatingly beautiful, but who drops her guard around her. Four days with Niylah, who’s spunky and funny. Thirty-six hours with Luna, quiet and serene in the way the others weren’t.

Lexa marries the woman she got matched with after Clarke, a friendly lady named Costia. At their wedding, whom she’s attending with a man named Roan (two days) whom she can’t help but dislike, Clarke can’t stop herself from sneaking off and asking, “Is this really going anywhere for me?”

 _Everything happens for a reason_ , the System dutifully replies.

Clarke glances at Bellamy, engrossed in conversation with his new match, Echo, and sighs.

And then – and _then_.

*

“Looks like it’s you and me again, princess,” he says, greeting her outside their second cottage.

“Bellamy!” she exclaims, and he laughs and catches her when she launches herself into his arms.

They have a whole year.

This time she kisses him.

This time they do much more.

When their time runs out, Bellamy is visibly trying to hold it together. This time he kisses her goodbye, sweeping and emotional and all she’s ever wanted.

*

She’s in her temporary housing waiting for her next match, when the announcement comes in.

The System’s found Bellamy Blake’s designated partner. They are to be married in four hours, and her attendance is requested.

Clarke doesn’t let her heart break over it. She paces her quarters, debating whether or not to visit him, and just as she opens the door, Bellamy arrives outside it, hair mussed and eyes wide. “Clarke–” he huffs. “I can’t – I can’t get married.”

She thinks about how easy it had always been with him, wonders why she can’t bear to see him find forever in someone who isn’t her.  And then thinks that of all his former partners, Bellamy comes to _her._

Telling the truth has never been so easy. “I don’t want you to.”

He enters her quarters, clutches her hands in his.

The realization is like a strike of lightning. “The System’s wrong,” she whispers, hushed. “It’s got to be. Not when we – we’re like _this_.”

Bellamy doesn’t hesitate. “What do we do?”

The thought is instantaneous. “We run.”

“Together?” he says. He’s panicked, running his hands over her face and neck and shoulders.

She catches one of his hands in hers and he stills, but he’s still thrumming with restless energy. She brings their joined hands to her chest, over her heart. “Together, Bellamy.”

They run, and everything fades.

**_Beep_ **

* * *

 

Underneath a broad, old tree, beside the corpse of a boy they’ve just killed, Clarke cups Bellamy’s face in her hands and tells him that if he needs forgiveness, she’ll give it to him.

“You have to face it,” she murmurs.

“Like you faced your mom?”

Stunned, she spouts platitudes about keeping everyone alive, but Bellamy has one brief, desperate thought.

“Come with me,” he whispers. “You and me. Screw everybody else. Let’s just…go.”

Clarke blinks at him, her insides at war – on one hand, freedom from leadership, free rein of her life and choices, Bellamy by her side. On the other, the eighty kids who need her, the encroaching threat of the Grounders

But still – he’s there.

“We can’t,” she says. “They need you. _I_ need you.”

His shoulders fall, but the look on his face tells her he knew she was going to say it. He collapses next to her. “But we can do it, right? Together?”

She huffs, leaning back against the tree next to him. “Together.”

**_Beep_ **

* * *

 

Their debate team wins State Championships. When the announcement blares over the speakers Bellamy doesn’t even think, just picks her up and twirls her around in happiness, and Clarke doesn’t think twice before slanting her mouth over his. Her heart leaps as he kisses back.

The team whoops as they pull away, flushing. Beside them, Octavia laughs. “Now there’s something I thought I’d never see.”

“We did it, princess,” Bellamy murmurs against her ear, pulling her into one of his trademark giant hugs. “We won.”

“The little debate team that could,” Clarke chokes out, because she’s still in disbelief – somehow, they’d gotten over themselves and their stupid rivalry and kicked the team into shape, and now they have a championship to prove it.

And they did it _together._

They talk about the kiss on the bus ride home, late in the day after Jasper has tired everybody else out with one too many renditions of “We are the Champions” as he brandishes the trophy down the bus aisle. Clarke has Bellamy’s cardigan on and she keeps glancing between the window and her hand in his. She thinks he must be similarly anxious and considers how she’s come to know him so well.

“Sorry,” she prefaces, tugging on his arm.

His gaze flicks to hers. “What for?” he murmurs, his voice low and warm, his hair mussed from the excitement of the day, and _oh_ , she does like him a lot.

“I don’t know. All that time we spent fighting each other. Me kissing you,” she offers.

He chuckles, and she feels the vibrations from where she’s leaned against him. Bellamy puts his arm around her shoulders, tugging her closer. “Nothing to be sorry for, princess,” he says softly. “It was a long time coming, for me.” The admission feels weighty, like they’re finally talking about this _thing_ they’ve been dancing around for the entire semester.

“Me too,” she admits, turning her face towards him.

“Really?” He glances at her with that _looks_ he gets whenever she insinuates that he’s something more to her than a cocky debate rival-turned-co-leader she was thrown together with by circumstance.

She snuggles closer, and he shifts. “Really, Bell. I like you. I like you a lot.” Once the words are out of her mouth it feels silly how she’d never said them out loud before.

Bellamy smiles down at her, the air around them crackling something golden, and leans in to press his lips around hers again, sweet and brief. Clarke smiles against his mouth.

“We’ll be the talk of the town,” she murmurs when they pull away. Certainly by Monday, the whole school will know. The two of them, legendary, overachieving rivals, will rocket to the top of local gossip. Her mother might even hear of it.

But also, the feeling of being in Bellamy’s arms, the knowledge that she gets to kiss him whenever she wants – certainly, that is worth it.

“Miller’ll never let me live this down,” Bellamy huffs, chuckling. “But we’ll deal with it,” he adds, partly into her hair. “Together.”

She snuggles closer. “Yeah,” she says, already half-asleep. “Together.”

**_Beep_ **

* * *

 

Clarke finds him in his chambers after the announcement is made. He’s sitting in a chair away from the door, reading some book or other. “ _Bellamy_.”

He doesn’t turn around. “My lady,” he says, his voice back to the clipped and formal tone she’d worked so hard to unravel, and it breaks her heart. “Congratulations on the engagement.”

“Bell, please–”

His shoulders visibly tense. “The Azgedan ambassador was very happy. I trust King Roan and entourage will be arriving soon.”

Clarke pauses, frustration and white-hot anger coursing through her. After everything they’d been through – the invasion they’d thwarted, the kidnapping plots they’d foiled, after all the things they’d said and done to each other, and it’s back to _this_.

“Sir Bellamy of Blakefeld,” she begins, and hates how her voice wobbles. “As Princess of Arkadia, I order you to turn around.”

Bellamy inhales.

Then he turns.

“It’s all right, Clarke,” he says, and he’s _smiling_ , sad and small, and her heart _aches_. “We both knew, going in. The princess and a landed knight, no matter how good in standing–”

“The princess _and_ Arkadia’s finest general,” she corrects instinctively, before flushing. “Sorry.”

He looks a little bit thrown, but recovers, his eyes softening. “I love you, Clarke,” he says, the words falling from his mouth so easily. “You know I have for a long time. But I know–” and here he visibly pauses, closing his eyes to take a breath. “I know you would never have agreed to the engagement if it was not the best thing for the kingdom. There are some things that can’t go the way we want.”

Clarke can’t help it, she surges forward and kisses him, the taste of him bittersweet. Bellamy kisses back on instinct before stilling and pulling away; his hands on her shoulders the epitome of courtly propriety. “Princess,” he says, and here he breaks, his hands trailing over a loose strand of hair on her face, and she leans into the movement as much as she can. She wants to tell him – how the delegation had forced her hand, had threatened her close circle, had threatened _him,_ if she didn’t comply.

But such knowledge will only endanger him, and that’s the last thing she wants.

So instead she says, “I love you,” instead she shakes off his hands and hugs him, pulling him close. “I’ll think of a plan,” she murmurs into his ear. “And I want you to help me.”

“Together, as always,” he says, careful, a smile tugging at the ends of his mouth.

**_Beep_ **

* * *

 

Bellamy’s at her doorway twenty minutes after she makes the call, one hand carrying a bag with vodka and cranberry juice, the other holding a box of her favorite donuts, the strawberry-filled ones from two blocks down.

“You came,” she says, and her voice wavers. It’s a dumb thing to say. He always comes.

“You called,” he says simply, putting down the food on her coffee table and joining her on the couch. “Clarke, what’s up?”

She sighs, presses her fingers into her temples. “I’ve got a third cousin I’ve never heard of,” she says. “Madison.”

Bellamy hums, leaning into the sofa and tossing his arm around the back. “I’m pretty sure I’ve got third cousins I’ve never met running around too.”

Clarke leans into him. “Her parents are dead,” she says. “I didn’t even know them. And now the social worker wants _me_ to take her.”

“Okay,” says Bellamy, after a pause. His hand drops from the couch back to land around her shoulders. “I assume you’re going to?”

She smiles at that. “What makes you so sure?”

He nudges her. “You’re not going to turn away a kid, Clarke.”

“I’m not sure you would let me.”

“I would,” he says, somber. “I mean, it’s your decision. But I would’ve liked for you to try.” She doesn’t have to ask to know he’s thinking of his sister.

Clarke sighs again. “Fuck, she’s twelve. I don’t know the first thing about raising twelve-year-old girls.”

Bellamy pulls her closer. “Luckily for you, you’ve got me. We’ll figure it out, together, yeah?”

She smiles again, comforted despite everything. “Yeah, together.” She taps his knee. “Pass the vodka?”

He does, grinning at her, and her heart flips. “We’re gonna need a lot more of that juice.”

**_Beep_ **

* * *

 

When Clarke regains consciousness, she first hears the whirring and beeping of machines and smells the too-familiar scent of anesthetic before she opens her eyes. The white ceilings and walls tell her what she’s already suspected – she’s in the hospital. “What–”

Beside her, Octavia startles awake. “Clarke!” she exclaims. “You’re up!” They stare at each other for a beat before Octavia rummages around for her phone.

Clarke blinks at her. “Octavia? Why–”

“Bell,” Octavia chatters into the phone, “Clarke’s awake.”

And that’s when she remembers – the gun, the flash of panic on Bellamy’s face, the sure, split-second decision she had made.

 _I can’t lose you too_ , she’d told him, once upon a time. She hadn’t been sure he’d believed it.

Bellamy arrives at the doorway looking like he’d just run a marathon, a cup of coffee in his hands. His gaze snaps to hers, wide and worried, and it’s all she can do to smile back.

Octavia stands and slings her bag over her shoulder. “Take care, okay? I’ll give you two some privacy,” she says to Clarke. To her brother, she pats him on the shoulder. “I’ll call you later.”

“Bye,” Bellamy says absently, but he’s staring at Clarke. She swallows. The silence stretches for too long. Her gaze roams over his stubble, his messy hair, his plainclothes.

“Did the Chief give you leave?” she asks lamely.

Bellamy sighs and sits down in the chair Octavia had vacated. “Clarke,” he huffs. He’s _still_ looking at her. “You took a bullet for me. Kane was livid.”

Her throat feels dry. “You’re my partner. You were in danger.”

“I don’t even know what to say,” he murmurs, leaning over to brush loose strands of hair away from her face. The tenderness doesn’t surprise her anymore; they’ve come a long way from the explosive early days of their partnership. “I’m sorry. I should’ve seen it coming, I should’ve warned you, I should’ve–”

Before Clarke can even think about it, she catches his hand with her palm, sandwiching it with her other hand. “Bellamy. We said we’d take down the Mountain together. That’s thick and thin stuff.” She gives him what she hopes is an encouraging smile. “Did we at least get Cage Wallace?”

“You bet. Some goons got away, but we got him.” He moves his head, then hugs her, so big and encompassing and so quickly Clarke has to catch her breath before she hugs him back. “Don’t ever do that again, goddammit, Griffin,” he murmurs into her hair.

And she knows she can’t promise such a thing; as soon as she’s cleared for the field she’s right back in the line of fire. But in the comfort of her partner’s arms, she lets herself believe.

Clarke pulls away first, and they hold each other’s gaze for a moment too long. All of a sudden her feelings start bubbling to the surface and _she wants to say it_ , it’s on the tip of her tongue.

But instead she gets a nurse tapping on the open door and clearing her throat. Bellamy turns away, and the moment is broken. “Detective Griffin,” she says, “Good you’re awake. We’ll need to run a few tests, if that’s all right, Detective Blake.”

Bellamy stands. “Of course, I’ll get right out of your hair.” He smiles down at her. “I’ll be counting down ‘til you get back in the precinct, Clarke,” he says. “That Pike case still isn’t shut, you know.”

“We’ll get on it,” she promises, reaching over and giving his hand a quick squeeze. “Together.”

**_Beep_ **

* * *

 

The new planet is beautiful.

Clarke can’t help but be wary – after six years of survival and a century-long exodus, arriving at a peaceful paradise place where the inhabitants welcome them with open arms sounds way too good to be true.

But as it turns out, it really is that easy. Their leader, whose grandfather had been on the _Eligius_ , sympathizes with their plight and gives them lodging as Clarke and Bellamy continue to negotiate their new roles and the survivors slowly get used to peace.

Clarke and Madi get quarters to themselves. The high-rise (a real _high-rise_!) is clean and white, sleek in a way she only ever saw on movies on the Ark. Madi befriends some of the other children and gets to be young in a way Clarke had only ever dreamed for her, and she herself takes up healing again, working in their hospital and learning New Earth medicine.

She and Bellamy are…something. He gets a seat on the diplomatic council, works to ingratiate everyone into society, and he and Echo break up, something brief and amicable that she doesn’t press. They fall into old patterns easy as breathing, a partnership forged by necessity and history, but even on off hours he still manages to exist at the fringes of her subconscious, always around but never quite right there. Sometimes at dinner he holds her gaze a little too long, and there are moments, _always_ , where he looks like he’s on the brink of saying something but never does, and she hates it. Until Praimfaya, they hadn’t been so reluctant around each other in a long time.

It takes three weeks before he says something. It’s something of a New Earth holiday to celebrate their arrival on the planet, and there’s a party, loud and raucous, around the main plaza. There’s music – jaunty pop Clarke hasn’t heard since the Ark – and a feast and dancing, and her system hasn’t yet gotten used to New Earth alcohol. Everything is slightly hazy in a way she hasn’t let it get in a long time, until an arm props her up, warm and solid.

“Hey, drunky,” Bellamy’s voice rumbles, and it’s almost _fond_.

“Bellamy!” She turns to look at him, sees his face lit by the white electric lighting. Suddenly, she thinks of a century and a quarter ago, Bellamy’s face, beardless and messy-haired and illuminated by firelight. _I can be fun_ , and her heart twists something sad.

He’s holding a cup of something, she realizes, and the words are out of her mouth before she can stop herself. “We finally get to have that drink.”

He blinks at her, shocked, before his face relaxes into a smile. “Yeah,” he says, knocking his cup against hers. “I guess we did.”

*

She sobers up as he walks her back to her quarters. New Earth’s binary suns make it so the nights are short but warm, and so there’s no real reason for her to huddle towards him, close in a way she hasn’t let them be since Monty let them know about New Earth in the first place.

But he’s not pulling away. That’s something.

“Good night, Clarke,” he says when they arrive at her quarters. Again he looks like he wants to say something, but he turns away, moving to close the door behind him.

“You know,” she calls from her bed, just slightly tipsy enough to say it. “If you want to tell me something, you can. We should be past that, Bellamy.”

He looks stricken. “It’s not a conversation for right now.”

“It’s never the right time. Not with us.” She realizes, as soon as she says it, what it sounds like, and by the look on his face, he does too.

“Fuck.” He rubs his hand over his face, a gesture that’s almost familiar, and goes to sit by her. “Madi told me about the radio calls,” he admits, and her brain sobers up completely as her heart sinks.

“What did she tell you?” she finally asks, and her voice sounds so small.

His gaze is searching. “That you called me every day, the entire time we were up there. _Me_.”

Clarke turns away. “Shit. Sorry.”

“I–” he looks pained. “Why would you be sorry?”

She wrings the sheets, only to have something to do with your hands. “I know we haven’t really _talked_ about it,” she says. “You and me, Echo, Octavia, Wonkru, there’s just been so much–”

“Clarke, I haven’t stopped being sorry since I left you behind,” he admits, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her heart is in her _throat_. “And _you_ of all people– you shouldn't be apologizing to me. Not when I–”

"No," she murmurs, gathering the courage to look up at him. "We can forgive each other, Bellamy. But we have to know when to be sorry, too. And we can't do that if we don't..."

Bellamy closes his eyes. "Okay, princess," he says, affectionate. "Let's talk."

It starts. They talk about everything – how she’d leaned on him while alone on Earth, how he’d tried his damn best to live up to her ideals. They talk about Monty and Harper and Madi and Octavia, their mistakes and their screwups and how, despite _everything_ , Clarke can’t help but turn to him.

It ends with Bellamy in her bed, kissing her long and warm and deep like she’d dreamed he would during those lonely nights following Praimfaya. Clarke has to pull away – she can’t help crying, she’s so happy, and Bellamy looks just as affected. Maybe that’s it, she thinks. All that waiting, all that pain and suffering, all that time they spent loving and missing each other, and they finally both get to have _this_.

They finally get to come home.

Bellamy plants one featherlight kiss on her forehead, their fingers tangling together, before pulling away, his eyes alight. “You okay, princess?”

She inhales. “Together?” she whispers, and her breath hitches. It’s always been a word that brought her comfort, the thought of Bellamy always having her back something that kept her going, but for the first time it brings her joy.

That half-smile she loves blooms on his face. He brings their entwined hands to his lips and places another small, light kiss on her knuckles. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Together.”

**_Beep_ **

* * *

 

**_Beep_ **

**_Beep_ **

**_Beep_ **

**_1000 Simulations Completed_ **

**_998 Declarations Recorded_ **

* * *

 

Octavia had been holding her phone when the match notification had come up, and of course she’d clicked on it. “Clarke!” she’d yelled. “Were you ever going to tell me you swiped right on my _brother_ on Alie?” She’d held up Clarke’s phone like it had personally offended her, her brother’s profile on the screen, and suddenly Clarke had recognized him and seen the resemblance, sparse as it is – the same sharp jawline, the same challenging stare.

She’d frowned. “I didn’t _know_ he was your brother,” she’d protested honestly. “I swiped right on him _months_ ago – he’s the one who just did it now.”

Her new friend had snorted. “Probably did just open it for the first time in months, that old man, he...” She glances back at the screen, her voice trailing off. “You and Bell, though–” Like most of Octavia’s bursts of emotions, her shock had dissipated quickly, replaced with a thoughtful look.

“I’m not going to go out with your _brother_ ,” Clarke had protested. “Especially not if I met him on a dating app.”

But Octavia had smiled at her, all traces of her outburst gone. “Nah, I’m not going to be that girl. You should talk to him. I really can’t believe I haven’t introduced you guys yet – I think you’d get along great.”

So they had gotten to talking, and Clarke had liked him, and now she watches him enter the pub where they had agreed to meet. His eyes light up with recognition when he meets her gaze and his mouth quirks up into a half-smile.

He’s even more handsome in person. She smiles back, raising a hand in a half-wave as he makes his way to where she’s sitting.

“Hey,” he says, part confidence, part awkward charm. “Sorry I’m late – meeting ran late. You’re my Alie match, right? Clarke? Because if you aren’t, this is awkward.”

Clarke laughs and sticks out her hand. “No, no – I’m Clarke. Nice to meet you, Bellamy. Octavia’s told me a lot about you.”

He shakes it, warm and firm. “And she’s told me a lot about you.” He lets go of her hand. Clarke watches him fumble for his phone, charmed. “So, Alie. We should check, yeah? The compatibility?” He pauses and glances at her, _nervous_ , and she flushes. “That’s how this works, right?” he continues, almost pithy.

Clarke remembers to get her phone as well. “Yeah. You know, I don’t put much stock into dating app algorithms, but this is supposed to be the best.”

“I know.” That half-smile appears again as he pulls up the app. “I have a feeling we’re gonna be seeing a lot of each other anyway, what with Octavia and all, so if this turns out to be ridiculously low, then–”

“No hard feelings,” Clarke says, smiling up at him. They press the _Match_ button together, watching the number that appears on the screen climb higher and higher.

**[99.8% Match]**

Clarke’s eyes widen before snapping to his. His expression is similarly shocked, the furrow between his eyebrows deepening as he looks between their phones and her face.

And then – the tension in his face breaks and he smiles, beaming at her, and her heart thumps a happy rhythm as she lets herself grin back.

She’s got a good feeling about the two of them.

**Author's Note:**

> Did this even make sense lmao….. basically all of it is simulations run by the Alie app; the first situation is the sitch we see in Hang the DJ itself, the others are the end of other simulations that test how they deal.
> 
> comments & kudos keep me willing to put up with blorke bait


End file.
